


I Need a Bad Idea

by Arriva



Category: The Black Tapes Podcast
Genre: Because something happened that night, Could have been smutty but I can't write smut to save my life, F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-22
Updated: 2016-08-22
Packaged: 2018-08-09 18:33:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7812634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arriva/pseuds/Arriva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Of all the bad ideas Alex has had, this one just might be the worst one yet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Need a Bad Idea

"The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo?"

"It sounded better on paper!"

"You saw me search a few things on Google, and that's the comparison you came up with?"

Alex doesn't answer, simply laughs. She is floating. Maybe because she's had enough wine to feel like her body defies the laws of physics. She just knows if she walked outside right now, she'd drift above the stars. Pass the moon. If she felt like it, she'd look down at the lights of Seattle. All her problems are rooted there. Then she'd laugh because yes, those problems threaten to drag her down, but they cannot reach her here. Nothing can.

Strand is the only thing keeping her grounded.

They're bunched together on his couch. There's enough space for them to sit apart, and they started that way. Then somewhere between her third glass and his fourth, they ended up side by side with Strand's laptop in front of them. The first half of  _A Tale of Two Tapes_ plays from the speakers like a yearbook. Complete with all the nostalgic parts they smile at and the embarrassing parts that make them laugh and then those few sad parts where they get quiet and wait to laugh again. Alex squeezes his arm. "Here comes my favorite part."

She buries her head in his shoulder to try and stifle her laughter. _"In my experience, it's usually just apophenia,"_ a Strand from a simpler time states with such confidence, such certainty that Alex can't hold her laughter. The Strand sitting next to her has his face in his hands, but he still cracks a smile.

"In my defense, I would like to point out that I don't use that term anywhere near as much as you and your listeners indicate," Strand says.

Alex rolls her eyes. "Please. If the apocalypse came, you'd be saying-" she puts on her best Strand voice, "' _It's just apophenia_. _Trust me, I have two PhDs and an EMF reader._ '" 

Ignoring her award-worthy impression of him, Strand says, "If the apocalypse did occur in our lifetime, I doubt I would be saying much."

"So if it _did_?" Alex swings her legs off the couch and reaches for the wine bottle. "The apocalypse happens, what do you do?"

Strand goes quiet. His smiles fades, replaced by a look so familiar to Alex she could trace it with her eyes closed. When he thinks like this, he does it with his entire being. He's in his own world; she's merely watching from orbit. Like always, he comes back to her and says, "There's a beach in Vancouver. I'd go there, open up my copy of  _Being and Time,_ and wait."

"How very deep of you."

She thought she was being subtle, or the wine made her think she was. But Strand notices right away that she's a few seconds from breaking into laughter. "Is there something funny?" he says.

"No- well, yes-" The laughter breaks free, but Alex manages to calm herself. "It's a very Strand answer."

"I see."

He sounds serious again. Alex fears she hurt him. She needs to stop doing that. She puts her hand over his, tracing his knuckles with her thumb. "It's a good answer," she adds gently.

Strand lets out a sigh and lets his body relax again. To her surprise, he grasps her hand. They've held hands before. Not much though. Does shaking hands even count? Regardless, this is uncharted territory for the both of them. Taking the role of navigator, Alex charts how her middle finger is barely longer than his thumb, how deep the lines etched into his palm are, and most striking of all, how the place where his wedding ring would be remains empty.

He watches the movement of her thumb, transfixed. "And what would you do in this hypothetical apocalypse?" he asks.

Alex stops. What _would_ she do? Would she panic? Run? Plan? She looks outside to the stars, and the answer comes to her. "I'd grab Nic, pile our stuff in a van, and fight it out as long as we could. Maybe report on it. Something that big needs to be documented." Strand eyes her like a puzzle that's missing a few pieces. "We could always pick you up on the beach. If you're still waiting," she adds.

"I'd like that."

She takes another swig of wine to wash away the visual of her and Nic barreling down the highway as the world ends. The fact that she's considered it as a real possibility frightens her. In a small voice, she says, "What if we do cause the world to end?"

"That's not going to happen," Strand says firmly.

"None of this would have happened if I'd stuck with my original idea," she laments. "I'd probably be reporting on a candlemaker in Portland right now. And you'd be in Chicago busting ghosts. And I'd be able to get a full night's sleep and..." Tears form in her eyes. She lets her head drop between her knees. "Dammit."

She doesn't mean to bring them down again. They've been swinging back and forth like this all night. One moment, they're laughing about their trip to Charlesworth. The next moment, Alex is breaking down about Maddie Franks, or Strand is pulling away from her and losing himself in Coralee, and waiting for the next drop _kills her_. She knows the happy parts won't last, because they never last with Strand, but even anticipating them doesn't prepare her for the gut punch of emotions.

Strand doesn't say anything which means she's right. So when he places his hand between her shoulder blades with more compassion than she deserves, she gasps. "It was a risky idea," he says.

"It was a bad idea. You can say it."

She waits for him to blame everything on her. To storm out and disappear so she can't ruin his life any more. Instead, he runs his hand along her spine, his fingers traveling to the nape of her neck. Her breaths come out in shudders. His touch, warm and gentle, should soothe her, but she can't stop trembling.

"We've both made some regrettable decisions," Strand says. Alex laughs, but this one is tinged with bitterness. "I don't know where I would be if I hadn't met you. Perhaps I would be, 'busting ghosts' as you put it so eloquently. Maybe I would have never seen Coralee. Maybe I would." There's the smallest crack in his voice. He takes a moment to compose himself. "But Alex, I don't know. What I do know is _this_ is where we are. We can speculate on what would have been all night, but in the morning, I know that you are going back to that studio and you are finishing this story. And I'm going with you."

Alex lifts her head, meeting his eyes. "You mean that?"

"Of course."

His face is so close to hers she can see the flecks of dark blue in his eyes. She was wrong about him. Strand isn't grounded. Maybe at one time before he met Alex, before he lost Coralee, before he found Bobby Mames, he was. Now he's as lost amongst the stars as she is. Why couldn't she see that? It seems so obvious in hindsight. Here they are, two confused people scraping to find answers in a vast expanse of conspiracies and urban legends all while trying not to lose their way back.

Inevitably, they would find each other.

Maybe he goes in first. Maybe she does. But what matters is he's kissing her, and she's kissing him, and holy shit,  _she's kissing him-_

"This is a bad idea," she murmurs between kisses. 

"Horrible," he says as he hoists her onto his lap. 

Oh, this is a bad, horrible, she's-going-to-wake-up-tomorrow-morning-and-end-the-world-herself-if-she-can-avoid-the-consequences kind of idea. She undos the buttons on his shirt while her brain screams at her every reason she shouldn't be doing this. But then his tongue is down her throat, and she pushes those thoughts away as she pushes Strand against the couch cushions. His hands slide beneath her top.

This is a bad, bad idea.

She slips her top off.

But this is  _her_ bad idea.

So what if she might regret it in the morning? Yes, it's irrational, it's poorly thought out, but as every bad idea she's made recently is spiraling out of control, she  _needs_ to take ownership of this bad idea. She'll deal with the consequences later. Right now, there's only one thing she has to worry about.

"Wait- _wait_." Alex pulls away, breathing heavily. Adrenaline courses impatiently through her body. "Do you want to do this?"

This is it. The point of no return.

As Strand puts a hand to her cheek, his choice is clear. "Like I said," he kisses her softly, "I'm with you."

Yes, this is definitely her worst idea.

**Author's Note:**

> Title was inspired by the song Bad Idea from Waitress the musical!


End file.
